


Make it a Date

by a_xmasmurder



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: It's cold and rainy in London, Little fluff ficlet, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little Mystrade ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make it a Date

The lights from the squad cars surrounding the block of flats cut into Mycroft’s thoughts. A welcome distraction, but irritating all the same. He moved through the milling mass of constables and onlookers to the police tape.

“Mr. Holmes. Good of you to come.”

Smoothing over the shock of being snuck up on by his partner, he straightened and faced Gregory Lestrade. “Detective Inspector. A positively horrendous night to be out, isn’t it?” And it was; cold and rainy, a typical London night. Lestrade wound his scarf around his neck tighter, and Mycroft wanted nothing more than to take his love to the Diogenes and set the damp man in front of the hearth with a book and a snifter of brandy, just the ticket to warm his belly.

“Yeah, you could say that. But it’s not like murders happen during office hours, yeah?” Lestrade shrugged. “Can’t do much about it.”

“Very true.” Mycroft tried on a smile, but knew it came across forced. But Gregory understood. He always understood. “Care to join me for dinner when you are done here?”

Before Lestrade could say anything, Sherlock swept past them, John in tow. “He’s done. Take him somewhere before he breaks Anderson’s jaw.”

Mycroft and Gregory watched them go, then turned to each other. Mycroft raised one eyebrow in question, and Lestrade waved his hand dismissively.

“It’s nothing. Anderson’s just being a berk.”

“A berk.”

“Yes, a berk. And dinner would be lovely, yeah.” Lestrade offered up a much more realistic, if more tired-looking, smile. “Where are we going?” He didn’t say ‘love’, but the word hung in the air between them like mistletoe on Christmas Eve. Mycroft had always loved Christmas.

“Perhaps the club. They have a lovely selection this late in the evening.”

“We always go there, Mycroft.” The good-natured eye roll was as implied as ‘love’, and Mycroft smiled for real this time, a soft curl of his lips that always left him with a warm curl of happiness in his stomach.

“What would you suggest, then? And if you say fish and chips, I might have to detain you.”

Lestrade laughed, making the warm curl turn into a glow. “Ha. I could just have you arrested, then we could have dinner in a jail cell.”

“I highly doubt that would go over well with my security team, Inspector.” He couldn’t see them at the moment, but there were always there, a part of his life as much as the headaches that were his job. “And with the world going a bit insane at the moment, I can’t be away from the office, as you put it, for too long. I wouldn’t want to saddle you with more paperwork, besides.”

“Oh, come off it!” Lestrade pushed at Mycroft’s shoulder lightly, a small jab of his fist, showing Mycroft just what he thought about his vaunted ‘security team’. “Fish and chips aren’t that bad, are they?”

“They are for my midsection.” Mycroft rubbed lightly at his belly, rueing the day he ever agreed to his doctor’s recommendations for a healthier lifestyle. “Not to mention my blood pressure and my cholesterol.”

“Ah, I don’t bother with that drivel. Come on, let’s go to that blasted club of yours.” Lestrade grinned and placed his wide hand more gently on Mycroft’s shoulder. “You can get your lovely rabbit food and I can order the biggest, juiciest steak they can make without killing a cow first. God, I’m ravenous. Haven’t had anything but coffee and danishes since eight in the morning. Are we taking your car?”

Mycroft wondered just how much they could get away with if he turned off the monitoring system in the back seat and paid the driver a generous tip.

“I would think we could, yes.”

“Oh, good. I’m shit for driving right now. Tired and blasted cold.” To emphasise his point, he gave a full body shudder that wasn’t entirely faked, and Mycroft doubled his efforts to move them faster.

“Besides, the club has a fully functional fireplace, if you recall.”

“Oh, perfect. It’ll take me years to warm these old bones again.”

Mycroft bit off a uncouth remark, one that he’d lay odds that Gregory himself would say in a heartbeat. “Then let’s move along before you turn into the very icicle we are trying to avoid.”

It didn’t take much extra to have the driver roll up the privacy glass, after all.


End file.
